


Pain

by sharkie335



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Knifeplay, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-20
Updated: 2010-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:23:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkie335/pseuds/sharkie335
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fifth time that Sam snapped at Dean over nothing, Dean pulled over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pain

The fifth time that Sam snapped at Dean over nothing, Dean pulled over. The road was bad enough in this little godforsaken part of Missouri that he needed Sam to actually be a willing participant instead of acting like an unwilling hostage. He knew that Sam hadn't been sleeping again. Nightmares struck every time he seemed to close his eyes, but no matter what he tried to ask, Sam just shut him out.

Sitting on the side of the road, afternoon sun glaring down on them, Dean tried to figure out what to do and how to handle Sam. This required tact and patience. "What the hell climbed up your ass and died?" Okay, so he'd never been good at either.

Arms crossed over his chest, Sam continued to stare out the window. "Nothing."

"Don't give me 'Nothing,' dude. You've hardly talked all day and when you have it's been to rip my head off. I'm getting tired of it."

Sam finally turned to look at him. "I said it's nothing. Let it drop, Dean."

Dean counted to ten. Fuck it. "Can't do that. I know you're tired - is that all this is?"

"Yeah, sure." Sam went back to looking out the window, and Dean swore under his breath. This couldn't continue, but he wasn't sure how to fix it.

Pulling back on the road, he puzzled over how to help his brother, and when he saw the seedy, run down motel, he got an idea. Pulling off, he ignored the questioning look Sam shot him and went inside to rent a room. The place looked like it hadn't been redecorated since the fifties, hot and dusty with the air conditioner struggling against the heat outside, but he didn't care about any of that. He just wanted to fix Sam - that's all he could think about.

The girl behind the desk was cute, and under normal circumstances he'd have been happy to bullshit with her, maybe see if she wanted to go for a beer, but not today. He disregarded the desk girl's attempts at flirting, and took the key.

Going back to the car, he continued to ignore Sam, simply moving the car in front of the room. Going around to the trunk, he grabbed their bags and slammed it shut. Circling around the passenger side, he glared at Sam. "Coming?"

"Why the hell did we stop?" Sam asked as they went into the room. "It's way early - we could get another couple of hours in easily."

Dean looked around. Like the rest of the motel, it was run down, the furnishings old, the wood panelling on the walls peeling, but it was fairly clean and when he went over and flipped the switch, the AC kicked in with just a rumble of protest. "We're stopping because you need to sleep, and you need it now."

"I'm _fine_ , Dean. I'm a little tired, but I can handle it."

"Right. And monkeys are going to fly out of my butt any moment now." Setting down the bags, he turned to face Sam. "Strip."

"What?" Sam's eyes looked like they were going to bug out of his face.

Dean pulled out a bottle of massage oil. "I'm going to rub your back, you idiot. See if that gets you relaxed enough that you can sleep more than twenty minutes without a nightmare."

"Oh." Sam sat down heavily on the side of the bed. "Dean, you don't need to. Really, I'm fine."

Moving up into Sam's personal space, he caught his eye and stared him down. "No, you're not. And since I depend on you to get my back, that means I'm not fine either. Now, strip. Shirts, shoes, and then lie. Down."

Sam sighed, but finally did as he was told. Flopping down on his belly, he stretched out. Dean studied the lines of muscle that told their own story, rigid with tension.

Kicking off his own shoes, he straddled Sam's hips and poured some of the oil into his hands. Rubbing them together to warm them, he then spread some of the oil over the fine skin of Sam's back.

He started with long, smooth strokes, gentling and calming Sam, trying to get him to relax. His back was tight, full of knots, and slowly, he started to focus on them, on working them loose.

Groaning under his hands, Sam shifted slightly and then moaned as Dean hit a particularly big knot. "Oh, god."

"Yeah. No wonder you can't sleep, Sammy. How the hell did you let this get so bad?"

"It's Sam, dammit." But unlike earlier, this time Sam's voice held none of the venom that had been present all day. "And I didn't realize how bad it was till you started to rub it out."

Dean added a little more oil, smiling to himself as the muscles under his hands loosened and warmed. Thank god for having dated that massage therapist - she taught him some good tricks.

As he slipped down Sam's legs so that he could work on his lower back, though, Sam started to move restlessly. "Sam?"

"Uh, I'm good now, Dean. You can stop."

Puzzled, he lifted his hands off Sam's back but didn't move. "Didn't we go through this already once today? Tell me what's wrong so I can fix it."

"You can't fix this, Dean. Just... let me up, okay?"

"Oh, hell, no. You're not getting up and ruining all my hard work." But Dean slid to one side, resting one hand on Sam's back. "Tell me."

Sam flipped over suddenly, and gestured at the bulge in his jeans, ignoring the color that was rising in his cheeks. "That, okay? I haven't been touched like that since Jessica, and my body is just reminding me how fucking long it's been."

"Oh." Dean glanced down, and then looked back up at Sam's face. "Uh..."

"Yeah. Told you, you couldn't help with it. Now, can I go be humiliated in private?"

Dean swallowed hard. Carefully, he reached for the button on Sam's jeans, giving him time to stop him. He couldn't tell whether he was relieved or frustrated when Sam's hand came to rest on his.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"It wouldn't be the first time we helped each other out, Sam."

 _Dean was seventeen and Sam was thirteen, just kids, sharing a bed and wrestling around as Dad did research at the small table. "You boys need to catch some sleep if you want to go with me tonight," he had said._

"Can't sleep with the light on, Dad," Sam had whined, while at the same time trying to hold Dean down so that he could tickle him.

Dad had shut his journal and stood up. "If I go work somewhere else, will you two actually sleep or will you just destroy the room?"

Dean sat up, throwing off Sam in the process. "We'll get some sleep, sir."

"Okay." Turning off the light and closing the blinds, Dad had taken his books out to the nearby coffee shop, leaving the two boys alone. They had wrestled a while longer, but when Dean had finally pinned Sam down, Sam had settled.

Curling up together, Dean had closed his eyes, but the wrestling had had a predictable effect and he was hard inside his boxers. He squirmed, trying to pull back from Sam, but Sam had stopped him with a hand on his waist.

Whispering, Sam had said, "Here, let me," as a hand squirmed inside the elastic. Dean had held his breath, trying to grab Sam's hand, but he wasn't fast enough, and it had wrapped around his cock.

"Sam, it's wrong."

Sam's teeth flashed in the dim light. "It's okay, Dean. Just let me..." and that soft hand started to move. Dean moaned softly, giving up at trying to tug it out.

Pretty soon it was moving smoothly, touching him in all the right places, and Dean was thrusting into the warm tunnel of Sam's fingers. It didn't take long before he'd bitten his lip and come.

"Ewww," Sam giggled, and pulled his hand free, smearing the come all over Dean's boxers. Dean could feel himself blushing, but he had to admit that he felt better, and it wasn't very long before they were both sound asleep.

"Oh," Sam said softly, and pulled his hand away. "Just..."

"Yeah, I know, Sam. It's okay. Let me take care of you." Still murmuring reassurance, Dean undid Sam's fly and tugged his jeans and boxers down.

Sam's cock was hard and grew harder under Dean's hand. He took it slow, trying to drag it out, wanting to relax Sam so much that he'd sleep through the night, but it didn't take long before Sam was thrusting up, breath high and tight in his throat.

Dean tightened his fingers, gripping till it must have been painful for Sam, but nothing seemed to work. "Dean, oh, fuck, I can't..." Sam said, hips moving wildly.

He let go before Sam could hurt himself. "Sam, what is it?"

"I can't - just can't." Sam seemed to be beyond frustrated, almost angry.

"What you do you mean, 'can't?'"

Sam pulled away and rolled over on to his stomach. "I can't get off. Haven't been able to since Jess..."

Dean sat there, thinking about what Sam said, long enough that Sam actually pushed himself up and started to roll off the bed. "No, wait."

"I just want to take a shower, Dean."

"Sam, we can't let this continue. Do you trust me?"

He turned to face Dean, his eyes flashing wildly. "Of course I trust you. What kind of stupid question is that? I just... I still hurt and I'm not ready to... well, you know."

Pain. That gave Dean an idea. Gentling his voice, he rubbed small circles on the small of Sam's back. "No, Sam. You're swallowing all this rage and pain and it's not healthy. Again, do you trust me?"

Sam sighed. "Yes, I trust you."

"Then lie down, on your stomach, close your eyes, and don't move."

Sam studied Dean's face for a moment, and apparently saw something that made him decide to stop arguing. Lying down, he sighed and relaxed as Dean continued to pet him.

When he seemed like he was going to stay still for a moment, Dean stood up and stripped off as quickly as he could. Going to his bag, he pulled out one of his smaller silver knives. He didn't have any that were dull, but this one was small enough that the blade wouldn't be able to do much damage.

He turned back to the bed. Standing there, he contemplatively stroked the blade over his thumb. Sharp as always, the blade split the skin, drawing blood in an instant.

Going back to Sam, he straddled his hips. He said again, "Don't move, Sam. Not at all."

He waited for Sam's nod, then laid the knife gently against the skin of his back and drew it down as lightly as he could. A thin line of red sprung up behind the blade. Sam gasped, but he held firm, not even twitching away from the knife.

"So, you blame yourself for what happened to Jess." Another line, perpendicular to the first. "Because you weren't there to stop whatever monster it was that did this." And another line. The smell of blood, rich and cloying, clung to Dean's tongue and filled his sinuses, but he didn't stop.

"You're swallowing yourself up in pain." This line connected the first two, and cut just a tiny bit deeper. The blood started to smear, cross his skin in tiny rivulets. "You're destroying yourself in punishment." A new line, cut at an angle.

With every cut, he forced himself to continue, pulling the pain out of Sam and putting it on his skin, instead of deep inside him. "You need to let it go, Sam. You need to stop punishing yourself before you get one of us killed."

By the time he cut the final letter into the skin of Sam's back, Sam was quietly crying, for the first time since Jessica had died. Spelled out on his back, in blood, was the word PAIN.

"There, Sam. You need to be punished, you've been punished." He sat the knife down on the nightstand with a final sounding _click_. Sliding back on Sam's legs, he knelt back on his ankles and pulled up on Sam's hips.

Sam came up on all fours, and then further back so that he was kneeling with his ass in Dean's lap. Dean wrapped one arm around Sam's chest and held him there, ignoring the strain in his own thighs.

His back pressed to Dean's chest, Sam relaxed into the hold. Dean kissed him softly on the side of his neck and slid his other hand down and around, taking his cock in hand again.

This time, he kept it slow, murmuring into Sam's ear. "It's okay, Sammy. It's okay. Forgive yourself, bro, you need to forgive yourself and just let it go."

Sam started to move again, but this time was less frantic, more organic, and Dean kept the pressure steady, refusing to hurt Sam any more than he already had. When Sam started to moan, he knew that it was working, and he nipped at Sam's throat, tasting salt and clean skin, hand moving a little faster, focusing on that place right below the head.

He was hard, but this wasn't about Dean, it was about Sam, so he just ignored it. Later, he could deal with it. Right now, he wanted Sam to just feel the pleasure without any sort of obligation.

Finally, Sam cried out, striping his chest and stomach with his own come. Dean continued to touch him through his orgasm, which seemed to last forever. When it was over, Dean helped him lie back down, and climbed off his legs, ignoring the way that pins and needles made his legs tremble.

"Better, Sammy?"

"Uh, huh," Sam muttered sleepily, eyes already closing. Dean smiled and went to get a washcloth, cleaning Sam as best he could. The bleeding had already mostly stopped, and where he'd cut a little deeper, he might scar, but most of it would heal clean. Hopefully, so would Sam.

Then he sat down cross-legged on the bed next to him and stood watch as Sam slept.


End file.
